


You Can Only Go in Pieces

by anniebibananie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Background Mike/Bill, Happy Ending, Hurt and comfort, I guess technically, M/M, Pining, Post-Chapter 2, Roommates, Shared Trauma, Sharing a Bed, Supernatural Elements, ghost!eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: “I think I’m going fucking crazy.”“You’re not crazy,” Eddie said. “I’m a ghost.”“He just told me he’s a ghost. I’m definitely fucking batshit, right?”When Richie finally arrives back to his apartment after killing the bastard clown once and for all, he finds an unexpected roommate in his recently... passed away (murdered? by a killer clown?) friend (slash love of his life or whatever... the labels don't really matter. It's all fucked).





	You Can Only Go in Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> *throws glitter* here, take this fic. if you see a plothole look away, there are a bunch of them. there are things i just... don't address because i didn't want to. avert your eyes *throws more glitter to cover it all up*
> 
> [my reddie playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cko0fE7q3dIPqnG5ARsrZ)

Richie returned to his apartment in simple steps. 1. Pack your luggage. 2. Drive to the airport. When those grew too difficult, the threat of grief freezing up his muscles and bringing that familiar itch to the back of his throat, he made them smaller. 

1\. Breath. 2. Put the key in the ignition. 3. Pretend your life is still livable. 4. Breathe again, why the hell not. 

He was used to pain in his own way. Even when he’d forgotten everything he couldn’t fully  _ forget.  _ The terror and fear had swirled inside his gut for so long it was part of him, unavoidable, sometimes appearing at the most inconvenient of times. Sometimes, no hell  _ usually _ , he had no idea where it came from. It was a grim reaper, a cloud at the back of his vision. Alcohol made it a little fuzzier, drugs a little fuzzier still, but he was also afraid of the nothingness that would follow if he forgot completely. 

So he didn’t focus on any of that. He kept breaking things down smaller, making them bite-sized and manageable. He could make it through just a little bit longer at least. He would hope there’d be something better on the other side of all those endless lists. 

Maybe, he thought, that's what had made it all the harder to get through the shit at Neibolt this time. Richie didn’t know how to hope for a future without Eddie. 

But if Richie knew anything, it was how to endure a shit situation. He broke the moments smaller and smaller—past bite-sized to practically micro-sized—so that by the time he was swinging into his shitty LA apartment it had grown to feel like an accomplishment. 

“Honey, I’m home,” he whispered to the empty space. 

His apartment had never been much to brag about. The walls were bare besides a few framed pieces of show memorabilia. His couch was plain, no decorative pillows or throw blankets. He was clean but not tidy. It looked lived in but not  _ home,  _ but it had never really bothered Richie before. 

Now it seemed cavernous. Richie felt like he could cry just closing the front door behind him. 

He walked past his living room and kitchen, down the small hall to his bedroom. After dropping his bag to the floor, he let himself fall to the bed. 

He had no way to have known what he’d gain and lose in Derry again. When he’d left it was with the faintest idea of what he was heading into. What an ignorant idiot. His chest felt tight, tacky and taut. 

The last few days had been exhausting. Richie wanted to sleep for as long as his body would let him. Before he could take his glasses off and set them aside, he saw movement—he sprang up, eyes widening. 

“It’s about time you got here, dickwad.” 

There was Eddie. Eddie fucking Kaspbrack. Same stupid outfit he’d died in, just no wounds. 

“What the fuck.” 

Richie’s stomach rolled, his hands instantly slickening. He wanted to puke. He felt that same bone deep disguised fear he had after Mike called, only this time the feeling wore no mask. 

“You sure took your sweet time,” Eddie continued when it was clear Richie was incapable of saying any more. 

Eddie looked… well, he looked about the same he had when Richie saw him last, holding him in his arms and begging him not to leave. Like the same boy who had held Richie’s heart right between his overly manicured hands without knowing it. The boy who hated Richie’s dirt-stained sneakers on his bedroom carpet but would let him through the window anyways. 

He looked like that boy—just stretched and tired, just a little beaten down. 

Beaten down. Richie wanted to fucking laugh. He was  _ dead.  _

“We were mourning you, asshole,” Richie said. Or at least he was pretty sure he’d said. It was hard to tell. His voice sounded disconnected—his own but not somehow. A level of removal. He was going fucking crazy, wasn’t he?

Eddie froze. “I…” 

Richie used the moment to hop up from the bed, rushing down the hall to where he’d left the phone on the counter. 

“What the fuck!” Eddie called after him. His feet made no sound on the wood floor as he stomped behind him. 

“You’re not real,” Richie chanted underneath his breath, looping it over and over so the phrase touched in a frantic ring.  _ You’re not real, you’re not real you’re notrealyou’renotreal.  _ Richie hit speed dial and waited, the words still wrapping around his mouth. 

When he looked up he noticed Eddie leaning on the edge of Richie’s couch, arms crossed over his chest. He looked a mixture of amused and sad. His lips curved down into a frown.

Richie still felt like vomiting. 

“Hey Richie.” 

“Bev!”

“Hey.” Beverly’s voice grew calmer, more stable. Less like a buoy and more like solid ground. “You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?”

“Eddie is in my apartment.” 

A frigid pause. “Rich, if this–”

“It’s  _ not _ —” His voice cracked. He tried to take a stabilizing breath. He brought a hand to his temple, unable to look over at Eddie and unable not to. 

Eddie’s brow had furrowed intensely, the divot between the brows a cavern. 

“I think I’m going fucking crazy.” 

“You’re not crazy,” Eddie said. “I’m a ghost.” 

“He just told me he’s a ghost. I’m definitely fucking batshit, right?”

“A ghost?” Beverly asked. “A  _ ghost. _ ”

“I’m just going to take a shit ton of sleeping pills and hope when I wake up I don’t even remember my own name.” 

“Richie,  _ no _ —” Beverly said as Eddie said at the same time, “Like  _ hell  _ you are, do you know the statistical probability of you never waking up?” 

“Fuck, I forgot I don’t need sleeping pills when I have your boring as shit drawl to ease me to sleep.” 

Eddied laughed—an abrupt, sharp sound that got stuck in his throat. “Fuck you.” 

“I swear I heard his voice,” Beverly spoke slowly, cautiously. 

Richie just stared at Eddie. 

“What is she saying?” Eddie asked. “Richie,” Beverly began again, this time with a renewed purpose, “ask Eddie what happened to your old Metallica shirt.” 

“What?” Richie felt like he was running to catch up, and he’d lost his breath, and Beverly was always going to be out of arm’s reach. 

“Just  _ ask  _ him, Richie.” 

“She wants to know what happened to my old Metallica shirt.” 

Eddie tilted his head, nose wrinkling in thought. “Why—” He cut himself off and snapped, the realization coming to him. “She burnt a hole in the hem by accident with a cigarette butt. We thrifted for a whole day to find you a replacement but couldn’t, so we burned it in the woods instead. Which was really fucking weird now that I remember.” 

Richie blanched. “First off  _ fuck  _ you two for ruining my favorite shirt. I never knew what happened to it. I mean I forgot about it for 27 years, but I basically—”

“Richie put the phone on speaker.” 

Richie did. “Why the fuck did we do that?” he asked. 

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Because  _ you  _ couldn’t have known that. Only Bev and I did. I’m not in your head.” 

“Hi Eddie,” Beverly said, her voice sweet and longing. 

Richie swallowed, or attempted to since it basically felt like swallowing sawdust. “You really took haunting me seriously, huh?” 

Eddie shrugged. “You made my life a living hell, gonna make the rest of yours one.” 

Richie hated this. He hated the way he felt as if he could still feel Eddie’s death on his skin showers and days later. That Eddie looked at him for a moment almost with a sense of vulnerability, openness—somehow making him look younger. Even Beverly over the line sounded halted waiting as if Richie might break. Hell, she’d  _ seen it.  _ She’d  _ held  _ him, and the embarrassment of that stung more precisely somehow with Eddie in the room. 

He felt seconds from doing it again, truthfully. That was what probably bothered him the most. It felt difficult to think of a joke, a denial. 

“What do we do?” Richie asked, for the first time thinking past this very second. 

That was what the list was for in the first place, anyways. Keep you in the present, keep you going, don’t look back or to the future just here and now and  _ able  _ to do anything at all. 

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to have a roommate who is physically incapable of contributing in any meaningful way and would probably hover through walls to stare at my bare ass, but I—” 

“Oh, fuck off, Richie.” 

“What? You’re a fucking  _ ghost,  _ Eddie. I watched you die and now you’re a fucking  _ ghost  _ in my living room.” 

The room stilled. Richie honestly couldn’t tell if his voice had been harsh or not. God, he wished Eddie had never died. He would give up the memory of him, of all of them, just so Eddie could be off living somewhere doing stupid, mediocre day to day shit. 

Eddie stared at Richie hard. Richie couldn’t tell what the look meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He thought about a pack of bikes and the wind in his hair and looking over his shoulder (always looking over his stupid shoulder) to stare at Eddie’s free and joyful face. His string of freckles and the sun on his skin and the warmth that always hit him in the chest like a brick at the sight of it all. 

Richie didn’t know how so much could change and still nothing had. He felt dumb, a thirteen year old carving initials into a bridge no one else would ever know about. 

“I’m going to make some calls, okay? Hang in there.” The line went dead. 

Richie breathed, threw on a carefree smile. “I’m going to shower. I swear to god Casper if you float through the door I’ll— well, actually, might make the shower more fun with a cutie like you in there.” 

His brow crinkled and mouth pursed. Classic annoyed Eddie, and getting to see it again after Richie had already thought he’d seen every last, had been attempting to be able to breathe through the difficulty of that reality... 

“Go take your shower, Tozier,” Eddie said. “I’m dead, and I can still smell you all the way over here.” 

“Eddie baby, you always know just what to say to me.” 

* * *

About twenty minutes later, after Richie had perhaps taken the steamiest shower of his life (spending the entirely of his time whispering “get a fucking grip, Tozier” to himself), Bill showed up at the front door. God bless Bill. 

“Bev called because I was the c-c-closest,” he answered before they could even ask. 

Richie thought it also had something to do with the fact that Bill was a fixer even when there wasn’t a solution. He took broken things in his hands and made them feel less so. It was crazy that for 27 years they had forgotten each other, and for a good portion of that time the two of them had lived in the same goddamn city. 

As stupid and as cheesy as it was, so much so it was definitely nothing he would ever say aloud, Richie thought it sort of spoke to their connection. That they were constantly orbiting each other, unable to help it, despite not knowing they were doing it. 

“You’re r-r-r-” Bill cut himself off, the unfinished word hanging in the space.  _ You’re real.  _

As real as someone dead could be. Richie went to the couch and fell into it, crossing his arms and trying to keep his hands contained in the curves of his elbows so he wouldn’t start chewing on his fingers and reveal his nerves. 

Bill went to the coffee table and sat across from Richie and, now that he looked to the side, Eddie sitting on the couch beside him. 

“When did you show up?” Bill asked. 

“A few days ago,” Eddie said, face twisting in concentration. “I remember…” His face turned toward Richie, a look of concern that made it hard to breath for a second, before he turned back to Bill. “I remember thinking I'd done it. I remember the fucker stabbing me, and then… I woke up here.” 

“Did you just… stay here?” 

Eddie’s eyes turned toward Richie’s. “What did you want me to do? Leave? Fuck you, man. I tried to see if I could get through the door, and when I step through I just… like fucking vanish.” 

“I wasn’t saying you should  _ leave,  _ I was… Fuck, I don’t know Eds. This whole thing is ridiculous. You’re a ghost.” 

“You can’t just keep saying  _ You’re a ghost _ as an explanation for everything.” Eddie paused, took a deep breath (though he was dead and Richie thought the practicality of said breath could be brought into question though he wasn’t going to be the one to do it—he had  _ some  _ restraint), and winced. “Don’t fucking call me  _ Eds.”  _

A beat. Then laughter ripped from Richie’s throat and soon Eddie was joining in, Bill too, as the three of them thought about the absolute insanity of it all. Or at least that's what Richie assumed they were thinking about considering it was all  _ he  _ could think about. 

They settled down a few minutes later, and Richie grabbed Bill a beer while Eddie looked after the alcohol longingly. Then they tried to talk through the whole situation with as much sense as they could talk through one of your best friends dying just to come back as a ghost. 

From his expert writing experience, Bill suggested that to move on Eddie would have to have “closure” about this life, but he said it with the shrug and little smile that Richie knew meant he felt about as confident in that answer as if he’d said just about anything else. 

He’d also offered the suggestion, probably because he’d seen the pained way Richie held his hands tighter and tighter with every thought of  _ moving onto the next life _ , that he could talk to Mike. “He m-might know something,” Bill suggested. “He’s researched a lot about supernatural stuff.” 

With that Bill had given Richie a pat on the shoulder before turning to Eddie and pausing, clearly thinking of whether he could touch. 

“I don’t think so,” Eddie answered for them. He reached his hand out to touch just to try, but when Bill went to meet it in the middle it went right through his palm. 

Eddie was a toucher, Richie thought. He’d never been that vocal about it, but even when they were kids he’d been physical. They play fought and patted each other’s back, and sometimes Richie and Eddie went further without thinking about it. They held hands, near cuddled in each other’s beds, and it was all just  _ boys being boys.  _ It didn’t  _ mean  _ anything, and Richie felt like a fraud each time he would ride home on his bike afterward and later his car. 

_ He doesn’t know what he’s doing. If he knew you, Richie, he’d be disgusted.  _ Richie had never told him, though, and even now Eddie couldn’t know what most of the other Losers had probably come to learn through Richie’s sobs and yells and anguish. 

_ I love you.  _ Imagine if he could say it. Richie had spent his whole life holding those three words in, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Eddie now. What would be the point? Eddie finally moving on, but now Richie’s whole heart was out there like a slab of meat at the butcher’s. 

Gross and sad and painful, all of it. 

“Hang in there,” Bill said at the doorway, tapping it as if unsure if he should leave. His eyes were glued on Eddie, a sort of longing there, too, but then he gave another wave over his shoulder and left. 

Then it was just them. 

“So…” Richie trailed off, turning to Eddie. “You want to play Parcheesi or something?” 

Eddie groaned. “Of all the places to get stuck.” 

Richie smiled wide. “I know. You got the best one.” 

“You read my mind,” Eddie deadpanned. He twisted on the couch, making himself smaller as he leaned against the armrest. “What do we do?” he asked. 

The situation clearly was fucked if Eddie was asking  _ Richie  _ as if he would know what the hell to do with all this. “Well, if you want to move on you have to find closure.” 

Eddie nodded slowly. Richie wished he would plead for his life.  _ I don’t want to move on.  _ All it would take is him to say it, and Richie would let it happen. He’d fight for Eddie to find some way back or, hell, he could just… live as a ghost in Richie’s apartment. How fucking dysfunctional would that be? Eddie deserved better than that. Richie wished  _ better than that  _ wasn’t moving on to who knows what happens after death. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Eddie asked with a groan. 

Richie shrugged. “Why don’t we just… try to go through all our old memories? We’ll go slowly, try to see if there’s anything you haven’t gotten past. It’ll be a whole goddamn project. Damn, I wish I had a chalkboard so we could get to plotting.” 

“Okay,” Eddie agreed. His eyes moved from his own knee caps back to Richie, and his head tilted. “Don’t you think you should sleep first?” 

Now that he mentioned it, Richie could tell exhaustion was wrapping its tendrils around him. His eyes were heavier and his limbs felt lifeless. But he didn’t want to waste a single second of  _ Eddie.  _ He didn’t want to. 

“Yeah,” he agreed finally. “Just for a few hours, and then we can get started.” 

Eddie just nodded, not looking at him, arms wrapped as much around his legs as a 40 year old man could manage, but for a second Richie could recall with such startling clarity the way he’d looked 27 years prior doing the same action. His pale, pink knees that Richie had never been able to take his stupid eyes off of. 

Richie tore his eyes away, and he went the fuck to bed. 

* * *

_ It was dark and damp, the sort that found its way deep past your skin and kept sinking lower and lower. Richie felt too awake and too numb all at once, watching the way It crawled through the cave, and there was Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie coming toward him with a smile of satisfaction and relief.  _

_ “I got him, Richie.”  _

_ Then blood and shock and Richie’s whole life ripped from him and he could feel himself screaming even if the sound wasn’t there and— _

“Wake  _ up,  _ Rich. Come on, Tozier. It’s just a dream.” 

Richie sprung up in the bed, the sheets wrapped around his legs, and brought his knees up so he could let his head rest between them as he sucked in breaths. “Fuck,” he muttered through his hoarse voice. “I…” He hadn’t actually had anything to finish that thought with. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Eddie answered unhelpfully. 

He was on the edge of the bed, one knee on the mattress so he could twist his body closer to Richie. 

“It was about It, right?” Eddie asked. “He’s dead.” 

_ And so are you.  _

Eddie reached his hand out, and Richie could see the fraction of a second when he realized his hand would do nothing. It crashed across his face like a wave into the sand, harsh and cold. A slap. Then his face was even. 

“I’m here,” he said, but Richie didn’t know if it was enough. 

Or maybe he just wanted more. Of  _ course  _ he wanted more. But also, maybe, he wanted nothing at all. He wanted to forget, to never have been aware of all he lost. He was… so stupid tired. 

“Okay.” He sucked in another breath, tried to lay back down. It had been at least two decades since Richie had been in bed with Eddie, but when Eddie started to crawl further onto the mattress it felt natural. 

_ “I swear to god if you try to spoon me in the middle of the night Richie, I’ll tell my mother you’re here and she’ll kick you out so fast.”  _

_ “Oh, come on, Eds. You know I’d be a little spoon. It’s not even a problem.”  _

“I’m here,” he repeated, quieter, perhaps really just a continuation of a dream. 

“Yeah,” Richie said, closing his eyes and trying to feel sleep pull him under again. “You’re here.” 

* * *

He woke up to his phone blaring and an empty bed. Richie reached with a blind hand toward his bedside table and grabbed his glasses first before pulling the phone to his face. 

“Yo, it’s Richie,” he said, voice bleary with sleep. 

“Wow, finally my client is responding,” his manager began. “Where the hell are you? We were supposed to go over your set for the Reno tour dates.” 

“Fuck,” Richie began as he ran a hand over his face. Across from him, he saw his overflowing hamper and thought about how mid-life he had left everything. Everything else had just kept going. “I can’t go to Reno.” 

“Tozier, this better be a fucking joke. I’m on my last leg with you. Why can’t you go to Reno.” 

“My friend died,” he said. He’d been seconds from a joke, but when the words had come to his tongue suddenly this had overrode it. “I can’t go to Reno,” he repeated. 

“Shit, Tozier. Are you serious? Okay, I’m going to look into this.” The phone went quiet. 

Richie threw it on his bed and ran another hand over his face. He needed coffee. Fuck, he needed  _ bourbon.  _

“You should just go to Reno. I don’t want to stop your tour.” Eddie was leaning in the doorway. 

“Who the fuck wants to go to Reno?” Richie asked with a scoff, hopping up to his feet. He grabbed a shirt from the floor and threw it over his head and walked out of the room to the main space. 

His hands needed to do something, anything. 1. Take the coffee from the cupboard. 2. Fill the coffee machine with water. 3. Measure out the grounds. The coffee machine began percolating. He grabbed the bourbon from his fridge and took a gulp of it before pouring some into a coffee cup. Why the fuck not. 

“You should go on tour, Richie. I can do this whole stupid closure business on my own.” 

“Eddie,” Richie said, turning toward him with what was supposed to be a carefree expression but his words felt on edge, “I’m not going on fucking tour. I’m not—” 

“It’s a big opportunity.” 

“It’s fucking  _ Reno,  _ and you’re…” 

“Dead,” Eddie answered plainly. 

“Yeah. You’re dead.” Richie leaned against the counter, thought about it for a second before chugging the bourbon he’d put into his coffee cup and refilling it for the coffee again. 

Eddie was dead, and Richie couldn’t leave him. If he only had a little time left, Richie would soak in every fucking second of it. Maybe there was an inevitability to this whole ghost thing. Eddie was evaporated in a cloud of self-realization and acceptance, and Richie would be mourning his best friend all over again. Maybe there was a sliver of chance Bill and Mike could figure something out and bring him properly back. 

Either way, Richie was ready to be broken again, but he would take every second he could get. He’d try to catalog the multiple expressions that crossed Eddie’s face. He’d remember just the cadence with which he said Richie’s name, joked, laughed, watched him. Like a starving man finally fed but in reverse. Richie needed to gorge himself now before he’d be left starving the rest of his life. 

His throat was clenching at the thought alone, and he was grateful for the coffee machine beeping. He finally poured his cup and took a sip so quickly he burnt the end of his tongue. 

“I’m staying, and you’re fucking forced to stay, so let’s get started, yeah?” Richie asked. “What a fun walk down memory lane it’ll be. God, the thought of you at thirteen again makes my heart flutter. You were so  _ adorable  _ Eddie Spaghetti.” 

Eddie gave him the middle finger. Richie smiled around the edge of his mug. 

“I hate you.” 

Richie smiled wider. “Ah, just like old times.” 

* * *

The list titled  _ Things Little Eddie Could Still be Fucked Up About  _ (“You can’t name it that, asshole” “Excuse me, as your sherpa in this adventure I get to name it whatever I want” “Do you even know what sherpa means”) looked as follows: 

-Eddie’s relationship with my late wife Sonia Kaspbrak

-Generic childhood trauma

-That time Eddie basically married his mom

“Anything else you can think of?” Richie prompted, waggling his brows. “Where’s the drama, Eds? The one that got away or something.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “The one that got away?” 

“Yeah, that's what it always is in those like Hallmark movies. They have to think about the love they lost. Well, that or they have to accept the joy of Christmas or some shit.” 

If possible, Eddie’s eyes narrowed more. “You sure sound like an expert. Definitely know what you’re doing.” 

“Oh, and Bill going  _ narratively you need a moment of catharsis to move on  _ is somehow more scientifically proven then my intensive Hallmark movie knowledge.” 

“So now it’s  _ intensive,  _ is it? Your life definitely does not seem sad at  _ all _ .” 

Richie paused. He sat on the ground in his living room, thinking it would be easier to make the list on the coffee table and getting to be straight across from Eddie. His eyes trailed over his living room, the devoid thing. Sad wasn’t necessarily the word he’d use, but Richie knew his life between the patches of Derry was… lacking. Lacking was probably the most accurate. 

“Seeing as we just wrote out a list of truly pathetic things you could still be fucked about... doesn’t make you seem that much better, Eds.” 

“Oh my fucking god,  _ please  _ get some new nicknames you’re going to drive me absolutely insane. Better yet keep to Eddie, please.” 

“Fine,  _ Eddie _ . Where do you want to start?” 

Eddie shifted in his spot on the couch, finally bringing his legs up and sitting cross legged. It made him look younger, and Richie had to bite down a smile on his lips. That had always been the problem, really. Eddie was so goddamn _adorable. _A little tightly packed ball of fury that had never let up, never let Richie win, and when he wasn’t biting he was… so fucking _soft. _Richie didn’t know how he’d been expected not to fall in love with him. 

“I don’t think it’s my mom,” Eddie said after another minute, fingers tapping at his shins. “I’ve done enough therapy to work through that and apparently learn shit to hell since I basically married her, please  _ hold  _ whatever joke is on the tip of your tongue right now because I don’t want to hear it, and my marriage was fucked but… I know that. I don’t need to realize anything about it.” 

Richie breathed. He wasn’t sure he would have actually been able to hear much else about Eddie’s wife without throwing up. 

“Generic childhood trauma for 500, Alex?” 

“Why does it have to be trauma? It could be something good,” Eddie replied. 

His eyebrows met in the middle. “Why would you need closure on something  _ good _ ?” 

Eddie flung his hands up to his sides. “I don’t fucking know what’s going on with any of this, give me a fucking break. I’m a  _ ghost. _ ” 

Richie snapped his fingers. “That’s  _ my _ line.” 

Eddie ignored the response and eyed Richie’s coffee cup instead (it was his second, still topped with bourbon). “Shouldn’t you eat?” 

“Maybe.” Richie shrugged. “I’m pretty bad at keeping up on that stuff. I’m still just as distracted as ever.” 

“My mom probably would have diagnosed that.” 

Richie paused and thought for a moment. “I think she did, didn’t she? I remember her telling me I should be on meds to make me more focused or some shit. I wasn’t sure if she was just trying to insult me or not, though.” 

“Oh shit, that's right.” Eddie bent forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, and brought a hand up to his face he rested it on. “How come there’s still so much I don’t remember?” 

“I don’t know. It’s the same with me. It didn’t all just rush back.” The memories still felt patchy in places, and Richie felt like the past came back like a dripping faucet. Eventually, after enough time, the sink would fill, but it wouldn’t be right away. Richie clucked his tongue. “Huh.” 

Eddie perked up instantly. “What?” 

Richie’s smile widened. He loved when Eddie gave him an opportunity to be a dick. “Oh, nothing.” 

“Richie I will actually murder you. I know I can’t touch you right now, but I will find a way. I will do it and kill you, then we’ll both be stuck in your frankly fucking sad as  _ shit  _ apartment for the rest of time. So just tell me.” 

“Maybe that's what it’s all about,” Richie finally relented. “Maybe you need to remember everything.” 

“Remember everything?” Eddie looked stressed out by that thought. “Where would we even start?” 

Richie shrugged. “I don’t fucking know, pick an age. We’ll try to sort through shit. If you’ve got any deep dark secrets now would be a good time to get them out in the open before we start doing the mundane shit.” 

Eddie picked at the sleeve of his stupid sweatshirt. “Let’s start at the beginning.” 

* * *

They start at the beginning, which mostly involves them arguing about how they first met and when they actually became friends. 

“I’m still not your friend,” Richie teased, feeling the heat of the moment with the way Eddie wouldn’t let up. “This whole situation is only proving that more.” 

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Tozier. Goddammit, how did I ever become friends with someone who’s so fucking frustrating all the time.” 

“Best friends, fuckface. We’re  _ best  _ friends.” Richie shot him a salacious wink, like he was just continuing the bit, but he’d also felt as if he  _ needed  _ to say it. To make it clear.  _ The best friend I’ve ever had even when I couldn’t remember you.  _

“Oh  _ are _ ,” Eddie replied, his words shooting off like a runner at the sound of the gun, “seems like someone considers us friends. Want to amend your original statement?” 

Shaking his head, Richie scratched at his cheek as he smiled through the moment. Eddie was sprawled over his couch, one leg hanging over the side as he held his arms above him and looked at the overhead lighting shifting around and through him. 

Eddie looked practically normal, but every once in a while Richie would look at him and it was like catching him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t  _ full  _ he wasn’t… well, real. He was dead, Richie had to remember. He hated remembering it. 

_ I couldn’t save you. I told you how brave you were and then you died because of it.  _

That took the smile right off his face. 

“Do you regret becoming friends?” he asked. Eddie’s eyes snapped to his own, arms dropping forgotten to his sides. “I mean, childhood trauma and all that. You probably don’t regret it as much as that haircut you got sophomore year, but it could come in a close second.” 

“Rich,” Eddie said, scoffing lightly but refusing to give in to the joke. “No. I don’t.” 

Richie shook a hand through his hair. “Cool. Good. We can cross that off the list, then.” 

Eddie nodded. “Cross it off.” 

* * *

“Holy shit.” Richie slapped a hand to his mouth, afraid if he didn’t he couldn’t control whatever would come out next. 

Eddie’s eyes snapped open wide. “What? Richie tell me right now. Right this second. What did you remember, come on, come on.” 

“It’s… nothing,” Richie replied, his smile so wide it almost hurt his face. 

Eddie sat up on the bed. They were in Richie’s bedroom now, having needed a change of scenery, and Richie was leaning with his back against the headboard. They’d been going on and off for hours, and still it felt like only scratching the barest of surfaces. 

The trickiest thing about remembering was not knowing  _ what  _ there was to remember, but it did feel like picking at a scab. At first it was hard, couldn’t get any purchase, but once you’d opened it a little the blood came out, the rest peeled off easier. It was kinda a gross analogy, Richie would admit. 

“It’s _so _not nothing, asshole. Please, I’m already _dead _it’s the least you can do to tell me the stupid things you’re remembering about my life that I’m not.” 

“Hey, our first kiss was not stupid,” Richie replied. 

Eddie blanched. “Our… first kiss?” 

Richie’s smile was smug, though he could feel the swoop of something in his stomach that made him nervous. For a moment, in the hilarity and rush of the memory, he’d sort of forgotten that Richie had never really had to talk about being gay. Eddie didn’t  _ know.  _

The rest of the Losers probably knew by now, the same way they probably knew that Richie was a fucking asshole who’d had to go and fall in love with the only person who could be just as much of an asshole back. It was embarrassing, but it was inevitable. And in some ways, it had kinda been a relief for them to see him cry and break. 

He’d been holding himself together by the barest inch of life for so fucking  _ long.  _

But Eddie didn’t know, and Richie didn’t really want him to. More about him being in love with Eddie than the other thing, the gay thing, the one he’d hidden away for so long. Logically, he knew Eddie wouldn't care. Illogically, with the strangling hands of self-hatred and doubt he’d been breathing through for the entirety of his life wrapped firmly around his neck, he was deathly afraid of the look of disgust Eddie would give him before looking away, never wanting to turn back around. 

“Oh shit, you don’t remember that?” Richie asked. 

Eddie’s face scrunched up, the lines in his forehead on full display and his mouth pursed. It was pretty comical, really, Eddie’s contemplative face. Richie always had the urge to reach out and smooth away the creases and lines, bring him back to something calmer. 

There were only a few feet between them. He could do it now, if he wanted. Except his hands would only float through him. 

Maybe Eddie was in front of him, and Richie hadn’t given up every last, but he  _ was.  _ He still would never get to hold his hand again. Never again would he ruffle his hair or nudge him in the side. And while there were still moments with Eddie to have, they were all on one giant countdown. 

_ This could be the last time you see him laugh. This could be the last time you see him smile.  _ Richie couldn’t even know what was all slipping through his fingers. 

“Wait…” Eddie began, snapping his fingers and hopping up onto his knees. It was so pure, and Richie scratched at his face to hide the smitten smile that was probably spread across his face. “Yes! Clara Johnson invited me to the movies, and I’d never kissed anyone and was shitting bricks about it. Holy shit. You  _ kissed  _ me.” 

Richie nodded and laughed. “Damn right I did.” 

“I… remember it,” Eddie said, head tilting to the side. “Holy shit, I remember it.” 

_ They were in Richie’s bedroom, his parents as absent as ever, and Eddie was on the edge of his bed picking at the edges of his shirt.  _

_ Richie was rolling around on his desk chair, practically pretending it was bumper cars with the way his spastic energy was taking over. He stopped in front of Eddie, though, when he said the next words.  _

_ “She said she wants to… you know.”  _

_ “I know?” Richie asked. His heart was in his freaking chest, wow he couldn't  _ breathe. 

_ There just weren’t girls Richie was all that interested in. They were never  _ right _ , and by the time he’d turned 16 he’d about realized it was because none of them could be Eddie. No one could be Eddie, and that was just a damn shame, frankly. Who could possibly live up?  _

_ Eddie’s hands flung to his sides, aggravation clear in his movement and embarrassment in his unwillingness to meet his gaze. “Don’t be an asshole.”  _

_ “I’m always an asshole.”  _

_ “I’ve never fucking kissed anyone, and she’s gonna be able to tell and—” _

_ It was colossally stupid, the sort of stupid Richie was sort of known for. He was just sticking to his brand, really.  _

_ “Don’t let her be your first,” Richie said, and then he was cutting off Eddie’s ramble with his mouth.  _

_ The kiss was a kiss of youth—short and too wet and misshapen. Richie would remember it until the day he forgot everything. Then someday he would remember it again.  _

“Fuck, I like really laid one on you, didn’t I?” Richie laughed, maybe not as full as he normally did, but it wasn’t awkward, either. It was a good memory. 

“Yeah, why’d you do that?” Eddie shifted back onto his heels, getting more comfortable now that the excitement of the realization had worn off. 

He was still so cute in his sweatshirt, though Richie wished he didn’t have to think about him dying in the outfit. There’d been so much going on all at once from the second he arrived back in Derry, overwhelming really, and all Richie felt like he had time to do was hold on and manage the ride. Now, with a second to breathe, he could take some time to hold onto all the nuances of his feelings for Eddie. 

They’d never really gone anywhere. God, they were still such a  _ bitch.  _

“You wanted  _ Clara Johnson _ to be your first kiss?” Richie asked, emphasizing every single word. “Clara Johnson. God, no thank you.” 

“She wasn’t all that bad!” Eddie defended. 

“She spoke like Minnie Mouse and could never keep her eyes on anything for longer than a few seconds, it was  _ horrible. _ ” Richie shook his head. “Nah, had to save you baby. Give you something worth remembering.” 

“Well, I didn’t remember,” Eddie said. “So, guess it couldn’t have been that wonderful.” 

“Oh, shut up. You can’t remember  _ anything  _ about high school or childhood. I was a fucking  _ prize. _ ” 

Eddie scoffed, shook his head, smiled at him with one of those rare smiles that set Richie’s heart aflame. The one that said  _ don’t tell anyone but I actually like you.  _ He shuffled, eyes looking out the one window of Richie’s bedroom. 

“That won’t help me move on, though,” Eddie said slowly. 

“Oh, of course not. No past trauma with me, only good times and greater memories,” Richie said, the words bounding off his tongue before he fully processed them. 

_ Oh, of course not because how could anything with us ever mean as much to you as it does to me.  _

* * *

“I need… food,” Richie said. He hopped up and grabbed his keys off the counter, slipping them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “You wanna co—”

“Still a ghost,” Eddie cut him off. “When I walk through your door I disappear.” 

“Fuck,” Richie said. “Okay, I’ll be back soon. Just need to get some essentials.” 

“Please make sure essentials mean food and not more bourbon.” 

“You got it, mom. Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.” 

Richie didn’t need to look to know Eddie was giving him the finger. 

He made it a few blocks before he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, checking the texts he’d been ignoring the last few hours. 

It had been 24 hours since he’d come home to see Eddie as a ghost in his living room, but it felt longer. The weight of the past made it all stretch, pulling at time like taffy. 

**Mike: ** text me when you get a chance

**Beverly: ** You are not alone, Rich! If you want Ben and I to come, we will. Ben is looking into flights, hopefully we can get there soon. 

**Bill: ** might have found something. let me know if you want me to come over

**Ben: ** We should all be together, Rich. I don’t know what’s happening, but I feel like we need to all take it on together

**Ben: ** Maybe we can fix this. I want to fix it

Richie called Beverly first, mostly because it sort of knocked two birds out with one stone. Also, because Beverly was a safe bet. Beverly knew him well enough to know when to joke, when to be serious. She was calm and soothing. He felt less jittery just from hearing her voice. 

“Richie! I was hoping you’d call,” Beverly said as she picked up on the second ring. “How’s it going? Is he there right now? What’s happening?” 

“I’m out going to get food since my apartment is bare as all hell.” Richie took a breath and kept walking, turning down the street toward the little grocery store. “I think I just needed a second to breathe, honestly.” 

“It’s a lot,” she agreed. Because she was smart, she said nothing more. 

“I… All these memories are coming back,” he began. “I thought maybe there’d be bad ones? Like, the glamour of these stupid feelings that came back would wear off and boom, Eddie would just be some annoying asshole again, but it’s so much worse.” 

“It’s making it more to lose,” she answered. 

He nodded. His throat felt tight. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and walked through the doors to the grocery store, feeling blinded by the light. “God, was I always such an idiot? Did you know?” 

“I thought so,” she said. “I don’t know if anyone else did, though. You guys were… complicated. You’ve always cared so much, Rich. Not just about Eddie, but all of us. You’re all heart, Richie Tozier.” 

“What a crock of shit.” 

She laughed. “Do you want us to come out? Ben has been about ten seconds from hopping on a plane this whole time. I’ve been holding him back, thought maybe it wasn’t fair for us to take that time.” 

Richie wanted them all here, but he also didn’t. Beverly was right, and it just showed yet again how well she knew him for someone who’d forgotten his whole existence for 27 years. He felt like he had to hoard these moments, and if they were all here… 

“Maybe a few days. I don’t think he’s going anywhere just yet.” 

“Okay,” Beverly said. “You should talk to Mike or Bill, though, they’ve been really going at it. I don’t know if they’re actually onto something or just doing that thing were they really amp each other up, but it’s worth a call.” 

“Yeah, I’ll call them after you.” He realized he’d been staring at frozen pizzas for a couple minutes. Now, he reached forward and took two to throw into his cart. 

“You know, Richie. You might want to tell hi—”

“Gotta go, Bev. I’ll talk to you soon.” He hung up the phone before she could say that last letter, mutter the m, complete the phrase. 

_ You might want to tell him.  _ He had no idea how to do that. 

As he was throwing a few other odds and ends into the cart, hopping up on the bar and riding it down the aisles, Richie rung Mike. 

“Hey, Richie. How’s it going?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old same old. Went on a disastrous home town visit, came back to my apartment to see my dead friend returned as a ghost, ran out of shampoo, yadda yadda yadda. Nothing that good. How about you?” 

“I can’t believe he’s really back and in your apartment,” Mike said. He was always so good at ignoring the bullshit to get to the point, like slicing through an avocado to get straight to the seed. 

“Yeah, surprisingly corporeal. He can’t touch other people, but he sits and stands and usually looks not see-through. The Haunted Mansion ride at Disney really got it all wrong.” 

“Richie.” 

“Mike.” 

“Are you okay?” There was a sound over the line, and then Mike was back. “Bill says I shouldn’t ask if you’re okay, I should just tell you to tell me what’s going on because you’ll lie to me anyways.” 

“You’re with Bill?” Richie grabbed ice cream because  _ why the hell not  _ and started rolling his cart toward the checkout. “Or is Bill with you?” 

“Yeah, I’m at Bill’s. Started leaving Derry, realized I didn’t really have anywhere to go, got a call about our friend coming back as a ghost and thought Bill’s seemed as good a place as any.” There was mumbling over the line, then Mike’s sharp laugh. 

Richie wasn’t sure why it hurt to hear it, but there was something about the casualness of them that stung. Sure, they were in a tough spot trying to figure out this whole situation, but they didn’t have a noose around their neck at any moment ready to tighten. They had  _ time.  _ Richie had no fucking clue what was going on with them—if it was just friendship or more—but they had the opportunity to figure it out, and suddenly Richie was  _ furious.  _

He didn’t ask for any of this. He hadn’t gotten a say in this traumatic, clusterfuck of a life. 

“We think we know how Eddie came back,” Mike began. 

Richie set aside his anger and muttered a  _ go on _ as he loaded things onto the conveyor belt. The cashier looked about as tired as Richie felt, eyes drained as she begrudgingly moved his items along. 

“Eddie died before we killed It. What is created can not always be destroyed. We think some of the magic that kept It alive for so long transferred to Eddie as it was leaving him.” 

“That’s… creepy.” Richie handed over his credit card. “But what about him showing up at my apartment?” 

“You were the last thing he saw, Rich. Probably the last thing he thought about. Guess it sort of… took him to where you’d go.”

“Huh.” Richie squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. When he opened them back up, the cashier was looking at him like he was crazy as she held out his credit card. Awkwardly, he took it and shoved it back into his pocket before trying to grab all the bags he’d bought. 

He hadn’t properly thought through having to walk back, but at least he wasn’t too far. 

“Does this mean…” Richie huffed a breath, shifting the bags mostly to his free hand so he could keep the phone near his ear. He couldn’t get himself to say  _ does this mean he can come back.  _ “What does this mean?” 

“That’s about as far as we got, I’m afraid, but I think you should talk to Eddie. If he wants to move on then you can keep doing your thing, otherwise maybe hold on until we can research this a bit more.”

“Want to move on?” Richie asked. Was it stupid that he’d never contemplated whether Eddie would want to or not? 

He’d assumed the options were —stay a ghost, move on. When Bill had said he’d ask Mike, he hadn’t contemplated it going much further than that: asking. Mike would say  _ he’s dead Bill, what do you want me to do?  _ and the only option would be to let Eddie go for his own happiness, his own sanity. 

“Yeah, I mean… We don’t know what coming back would look like. He doesn’t have a body that isn’t buried deep below a crumbled house, we don’t know what he will or won’t remember, I mean… we’re in pretty uncharted territory. He might not want to risk that.” 

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll talk to him. I have to go so I can get back to my apartment.” 

“Keep in touch, Rich. We’ll keep digging.” 

* * *

It took a minute (and Richie awkwardly holding one of the grocery bags between his teeth) for him to be able to push through the door and enter the apartment. It was quiet. 

Richie dropped the bags to the counter quickly and scanned the living room.  _ No Eddie.  _ “Eddie?” he called, trying to keep his voice light. He looked into the bathroom.  _ No Eddie.  _ “Spaghetti? Didn’t realize we were playing hide and go seek.” He took a breath, deep and long as he tried to fill his lungs, and walked into his bedroom.  _ No Eddie.  _ “No.” 

He’d just gone for  _ groceries,  _ Eddie couldn’t have disappeared in the 30 minutes that had taken him that wasn’t  _ fair.  _ There were so many more things to say and remember. It felt like Richie had suddenly been killed off during the first act of a play, like there had been more story to go and suddenly it was gone. 

“What the fuck,” he muttered underneath his breath, bringing a hand up to his chest and pushing it. 1. Breathe. 2. Breathe some more. 3. Are you even breathing? He took his glasses off to run a hand down his face, and when he put them back on the world seemed distorted. 

He wobbled out into the hallway, trying to keep himself together.  _ You never got to say goodbye. Again.  _ “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh  _ fuck. _ ” The words had started angry, melding to something almost pathetic. Like a wounded animal, like a pleading thing. 

“Richie?” 

Richie looked up, and there Eddie was. Alive. Well, not  _ alive.  _ Half-alive, half-dead. Here, still, not  _ gone _ , yet. 

“Are you crying?” Eddie stepped forward, brow scrunching, and he was reaching out a hand that would never be able to touch Richie and it was  _ too much.  _

He scooted past him and flung himself into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. This whole situation was embarrassing whatever way he flipped it, so he wasn’t sure why he thought escaping it briefly would do him any good, but goddammit he still felt like he was breaking down in the quarry, realizing Eddie was gone and would never be back. That they’d lost years to fake lives, that there were still memories they’d probably never recover, that childhood was gone and they’d barely ever gotten it in the first place. 

Richie fell to the ground and sat his back against the tub, feeling the cold porcelain through his thin t-shirt. He brought his knees further up and breathed between them, resting his head down so he could focus on the ins and outs of his breathing. 

“Richie.” 

He didn’t want to look up with his stupid red and wet face after a stupid freakout over his stupid best friend and love of his stupid, ridiculous life. Because it was Eddie, he did anyways. 

There was no pity or judgement or anything on Eddie’s face, just… loss, Richie guessed. Something that looked tender and longing. 

“I wish I could hug you,” Eddie said. “You’re so close but so far.” 

“I thought you were gone. I thought you left, and— and—” He sucked in a deep breath, so obnoxiously childish in the gesture he kept his cheeks puffed up like he was about to blow a balloon. Then he let it all out on a slow hiss.

“I’m here.” Eddie was kneeling in front of him, but now he fell back onto his butt and leaned his back against the cabinets. He spread his legs out wide in front of himself, one on each side of Richie’s still bent knees. 

_ So close. So far.  _ Richie could almost pretend he could lean his ankle just a little to the side, and he’d feel Eddie’s warmth. 

“You’re not. You’re a…” 

“Ghost,” he finished for him. Eddie brought a hand up and rubbed his temples. “How can a fucking ghost get a migraine, I swear to god. This whole situation is so  _ fucking  _ ridiculous.” 

Richie paused. “Did you ghost through the door to get in here?” 

Eddie looked sort of sheepish. “Maybe.” 

“You can’t  _ maybe  _ ghost through a door. You definitely did.” Richie tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Which, by the way, how have we gone this long without making any Swayze jokes? I can’t believe the restraint on myself.” 

“I… hate you,” Eddie stated plainly. 

“Mike said I was the last thing you were thinking about, baby. Let’s not give mixed signals now.” He wanted to nudge him so badly. 

Eddie’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? What did Mike say?” 

“Let me make myself some dinner, and I’ll tell you.” When Richie was back to his feet, Eddie stood beside him. He still looked wary, concerned. Richie caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and it looked disastrous. “I’m fine, Eddie. Don’t get twisted. I’ll be fine.” 

* * *

“I don’t want to move on,” Eddie said as he watched Richie shove pizza into his face with a look of disgust. “God, don’t you chew ever?” 

“No,” Richie said through a mouthful of food, just to be a dick. “You don’t?” he asked. 

“You thought I would want to  _ die _ ?” Eddie asked. “No. We’ll just… I don’t know, postpone all this weird finding closure business. Wait, I guess.” 

Richie breathed. “Okay. Yeah, we’ll… yeah.” 

“You should go back to work.” 

“I’m not going to fucking Reno, it’s so not worth it.” 

Eddie shook his head. “You don’t have to go to Reno, but you should still get back to your job. This could take months. You can’t babysit me the whole time, and I don’t need you to anyways.” 

Richie paused, the half-eaten slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. “I’ll talk to my manager, but first…” 

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “What? You’re about to say something I’m going to hate, aren’t you? Just say it. Just spit it out. Come on, man.” 

“Maybe if you ever pause to breathe I could.” 

Eddie flipped him the bird. 

“We have to watch Ghost tonight.” 

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ you.” 

Richie laughed so hard he nearly spat up the pizza, but it was good because when he looked over to Eddie he was laughing too. It felt like a cloud had been lifted for the meantime. The weight was off his chest, at least for now, and he could breathe without having to add it into the steps. 

* * *

Without the threat of Eddie trying to move on, life became calmer. More  _ normal,  _ maybe. They were still remembering, and trying to as well. Richie had spent nearly three decades of his life pretending that itch at the back of his mind and the back of his throat was nothing, but he didn’t know if wanted to be in the dark anymore. 

There was so much  _ good  _ to be remembered. 

“Remember how I used to read to you sometimes?” Eddie would say randomly, Richie in the middle of doing something while Eddie was desperately trying to entertain himself. “Like, for homework or when you couldn’t sleep, and  _ I  _ needed to do homework.” 

“Holy shit, yeah. I do.” 

Or sometimes it was the other way around, Richie snapping or bursting out into laughter over something he’d totally forgotten about. “I can’t believe we forgot the  _ milkmaid incident _ .” 

Eddie would laugh or roll his eyes, going back to read the newspaper Richie got for him. It was near goddamn domestic, really. It went on for at least a few more days before Bill and Mike came over. 

“Holy shit,” Mike said as he stepped through the door. 

“Hello to you, too,” Richie joked

Eddie held his arms out to the side, giving him a smile that was a little subdued. “Holy shit.” 

“I know Bill told me, and I talked to you on the phone Rich, but I think I still half-thought you were all crazy.” 

“I am still crazy, just not about my best friend returning as a ghost who’s confined to my apartment,” Richie answered. “Which, like, dudes can you come in it’s getting really fucking weird with you in the doorway.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, ushering Mike that last bit in and closing the door behind him. Then he turned toward the apartment, his eyes scanning the space, and he raised a brow. “I’m sorry, did you guys redecorate?” 

The room wasn’t that much different, but there were colorful pillows on the couch now and a blanket thrown over the side. There was also a fake fern in the corner of the room (“A real one will give me allergies, Richie” “You’re  _ dead _ ”), and two lamps to use instead of the overhead lighting. 

“Eddie figured out my laptop password while I was asleep and used my Amazon account,” Richie answered. “He said the apartment made him want to die all over again.” 

“It’s true,” Eddie said, “and can you believe Richie didn’t have Amazon Prime?” 

“It’s  _ expensive _ .” 

“You’re a semi-famous comedian, not to mention an adult, come on it’s like you’re trying to be pathetic.” 

Richie flung his arms out to the side, shooting Bill and Mike a huge smile. “Welcome to my apartment, this is what it’s like now. The bickering is just a fun extra feature you all get for free. I don’t even remember what silence felt like. You want pizza? We could order some pizza.” 

“You’re  _ literally  _ only ordering pizza because I complained about missing pizza,” Eddie said. “I hate you.” 

“This s-s-seems to be going great,” Bill said through a fake smile. “I was thinking chinese, actually.” 

“So we can relive all those fun memories at the Jade Orient? You’re so smart. Always thinking, Bill,” Richie replied. “I’m going to go get the take out menu.” 

That was the other thing about Eddie living in his apartment, able to touch everything that wasn’t living and not being able to sleep—it was clean. Clean to a near fault, to an almost ridiculous degree. 

Just last night Richie had woken up in the middle of the night to the sounds of soft cursing and scrubbing. When he’d walked down the hallway to check it out, he saw Eddie on his knees trying to clean his kitchen grout which… honestly, was probably sort of a fantasy he’d had before, but he didn’t want to wake  _ up  _ to it. 

“What’s the funniest thing you’ve remembered?” Mike asked as Richie arrived back in the living room and tossed the menu toward Mike and Bill. 

Bill grabbed it and took the pen that was still behind his ear, which Richie thought was pretty big of him for not making a joke about at this moment, and circled a few things. Then he grabbed his cell and stood up to walk out of the room. 

“Funny? Oh god, I don’t know about funny,” Eddie replied. He was all scrunched up in the lone chair. Richie wondered if it made it easier to stay isolated so you wouldn’t have to remember you couldn’t touch anyone. 

“What are you talking about, Eds? We’ve had so many shenanigans we remembered.” 

“What was it like remembering it all and knowing you were the only one to remember?” Eddie asked, ignoring Richie. 

Mike rubbed a hand over his jaw before letting his hand drop back to his lap. “It was strange. So many of those memories are meant to be shared, but I always knew you guys would come back.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Richie told him, but it was through one of those purely happy smiles, the ones he was never able to hide behind, and Mike just shook his head with a laugh. 

“Food ordered,” Bill said as he came back, eyeing the scene warily. “Wh-what’d I miss?” 

“Nothing, Billy. Come sit,” Mike said, patting the space beside him. 

It was then that Richie realized he was still standing in the middle of the room, not having chosen a spot to sit. He’d choose the couch, where Bill and Mike were leaving plenty of space for him, but he couldn’t help but look at Eddie on his way there. 

If Eddie was really there, Richie probably would have jokingly plopped down on top of him. They might have squished up in that chair the way they used to throughout high school, the way it was easier to when you were young and could still pretend those sorts of things didn’t mean as much as they might. 

“What’s with all the notes by your laptop?” Bill asked. 

“Oh,” Richie answered as he sat down finally on the couch, stretching his legs over the coffee table. “Stand up jokes.” 

“You’re writing your own material again?” Eddie asked. His brows were scrunched together. Richie wasn’t sure why he always looked so surprised by the things Richie was doing, like Richie was a puzzle he couldn’t piece together. 

“You’re the one who told me I need to start working again. Turns out living with a hypochondriac ghost provides a lot of material. The irony of it all is pretty hilarious, actually, I need to write that down. Hypochondriac ghost.” 

“I feel like I haven’t taken full advantage of haunting you,” Eddie said. His face spoke to revenge. “It’s just going to be Africa by Toto all hours of the night.”

Richie scoffed. “You say that like I’d hate that. Perfect lullaby for a good night’s rest.” 

Eddie scowled. “I may not remember every single thing about our high school years, but I remember your mixtapes, Tozier. Don’t tempt me to play the shit you don’t like.” 

“That’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said, Eds. Remember my  _ mixtapes. _ ” 

Eddie turned toward Bill and Mike, giving him that exasperated look that Richie for some reason couldn’t help but smile at. It was oddly endearing the way so much about Eddie was. “Please say anything else so we can stop Richie talking. I’m tired of his voice. His voice is all I hear.” 

“I’m sure statistically, I hear way—”

“ _ Tired _ ,” Eddie emphasized. He motioned with his hand, as if to say  _ speak now please.  _

Mike and Bill looked at each other, sharing a laugh, before Bill began to talk about the research they’d been doing. 

It was close to normal. If Richie really looked through squinted eyes, it could probably be considered it, but it wasn’t  _ quite.  _ Not  _ really.  _ Richie still let himself listen, let himself be pulled in. 

* * *

“Do you remember prom?” 

Richie looked up from the spiral notebook he was workshopping some joke ideas into, though they were all starting to look like variations of  _ so have you ever been in love with your best friend? A real bitch, huh?  _ and Eddie was reading the newspaper across from him. Richie could honestly say he had probably never read the newspaper in his entire life, but Eddie poured over it. 

Probably to see what was most likely to kill him or something, the drama whore he was. 

“Yeah,” Richie replied. He closed the notebook, already knowing that this was going to pull them away from everything else. “Sorta been waiting for  _ you  _ to remember prom.” 

Eddie nodded and closed his newspaper, leaning forward onto his elbow and twiddling his thumbs in front of his eyes. 

At first, Richie had had the audacity to assume some of Eddie’s manic energy had subsided in adulthood, but now Richie knew better. He was still constantly moving, twitching, speaking in long streams or bouncing a leg. Eddie never stopped, though really neither did Richie. That was probably why they’d always made such a good match, especially when no one else could stand them. 

“I wasn’t planning on going, but Stan talked me into it,” Eddie said. 

Richie nodded and leaned back in the chair. “Bill and Ben had dates. Stan refused to ask anyone because he wasn’t sure he wanted to go, and then he convinced you not to either.” 

“He thought if he convinced me to go, then you would go, too,” Eddie said, the words rolling over his tongue slowly. 

_ “You didn’t dance at  _ all  _ in the gym. Come on, you’re not gonna dance once at your own prom, Stanny?” Richie asked as he held out a hand. They were at his house, hanging out in the big living room that was empty since his parents were out of town, probably. Who knew. “Will you do me this honor, Uranus?”  _

_ Stan didn’t say anything but his eyes were narrowed as he took Richie’s hand. Richie fond Stan endlessly amusing that way—how he seemed constantly a second from complete annoyance but could go along anyways.  _

_ The two of them swung around the living room, their bow ties already off from earlier in the night, but their tux jackets still on for the moment. Stan was laughing as Richie turned him around, and his cheeks were reddening, and they were spinning so quickly in circles Richie wasn’t sure whether he’d puke or fall to the floor first.  _

_ Stan let go of their hands and spun out, hands going instantly to his knees to get a breath. “I need some water.”  _

_ He disappeared down the hall, and Richie turned with a laugh to watch Eddie. He was cozily crumpled into his chair, though he hadn’t bothered taking any of his tuxedo off, yet. His bow tie still looked perfect.  _

_ Richie held out his hand. “Edward Kaspbrak. Will you do me the honor?”  _

_ Maybe it was the beer or two Eddie had in his system or the glow of their senior year of high school. Richie wasn’t sure, but he was grateful when Eddie took his hand without thinking too long. He bit his lip, but then he was on his feet and letting Richie hold his hand and bring him close.  _

_ They moved in soft sways back and forth to the record playing in the corner, though their timing didn’t match quite up to the rhythm of the music.  _

_ “What will it be like next year?” Eddie asked. His eyes were not on Richie, looking past him to something else.  _

_ Richie was fine with that, mostly because it meant he could stare at Eddie’s face with abandon. He got to see it up close, this calm, so rarely, and it was like a gift that never stopped giving. The freckles and the little lines and the deep eyes.  _

_ “Different,” Richie answered softly, “but it doesn’t mean everything has to be.”  _

_ Eddie turned toward him, and Richie didn’t know why the breath caught in his throat. Maybe it was just Eddie being stupidly beautiful and open in front of him. Maybe it was because he was a little drunk, and everything he’d known for 18 years of his life was swiftly coming to an end.  _

_ “But maybe some things—”  _

_ “Guys, Bill just called to tell me they’re going to come over,” Stan said. He stood a few feet into the doorway, watching the two of them with an expression Richie couldn’t find purchase on. “Cute. You guys need a moment? I can pretend I didn't ruin your love confession.” _

_ Richie pouted. “Don’t be jealous, Stan. You know you have as much as my heart as I can give.”  _

_ “If only Eddie didn’t have the majority of it.”  _

_ “Bold of you to assume he  _ has  _ a heart.”  _

“And it worked. Who knew. You both got me to go,” Richie continued, letting the fog of the memory fade around them. “Why you thinking about prom?” 

Eddie shrugged, and his fingers went back to the edges of the newspaper. “My wife used to ask me shit like that all the time about my past, and I never was able to remember any of it. She thought I was hiding prom because I was secretly in love with whoever I went with or something, and I didn’t want to let on or she’d be mad.” Eddie scratched at his face. “Turns out I went with you the whole time.” 

“Well don’t forget Stanley. He was our true sugar daddy that night.” 

Eddie smiled. “Yeah. It was a good night.” 

_ Richie remembered pulling Eddie’s bow tie off later after Eddie had had a few too many drinks and was getting sloppy. His hands were chaotic, unable to refine their movement, and Richie tugged Eddie forward with a gentle pull.  _

_ Eddie had been humming the whole time, eyes closed, hair mussed.  _

_ It had taken everything for Richie not to tug his hands through it, and then everything seemed not to work and he’d done it anyway. Eddie had just hummed more as Richie’s hands rubbed over his scalp. _

_ “Thanks, Rich,” he said before falling into Richie’s bed. He pulled the comforter all around him and stuffed his face between the folds. “You’re the best.”  _

“The best night,” Richie agreed. 

* * *

The wind was annoyingly strong today to the point of knocking Richie’s hair into complete disarray and forcing him to walk tilted to push through the power of it back to his apartment. Luckily it wasn’t far from his car to the apartment building, but he was grateful to pause and take a deep breath after shutting the front door behind himself. 

He’d met with his manager and agent and all those people who helped curate his career. It had been more of a shit show than he’d imagined to deal with the whole Reno business, but now they were able to put together a makeup show in two weeks nearer home. That double the length away as the time Eddie had been living in his apartment. 

_ We just need to remind them who you are Richie,  _ his manager said _ , and who you will be moving forward with your comedy.  _

It was the who you  _ will _ be part that was continuing to fuck him up, because he’d spent a lot of time late into the night as he whittled down cigarettes thinking about that question. He’d been working on embracing honesty, and if he didn’t carry that to the stage with him… 

He put his keys into the apartment front door just to find it already open. “Hello?” he called. 

A few steps in, and Richie saw Bill and Eddie talking in the living room. 

“I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Richie said. 

Bill gave a little awkward wave before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I had a f-few things to talk to him about, b-but I have to go now.”

“Aw, you break my heart, Billy,” Richie said. His eyes darted to Eddie to see if it would be easy to read whatever conversation he’d just walked into from the look, but it was impossible to decipher anything. “You and Mikie should come over again soon. It’s basically like marriage counseling for us.Otherwise we’re practically uncivil.” 

Bill laughed. “Sounds like a plan.” He turned his gaze to Eddie and nodded once, sharp. “Think about it.”

After a few more repeated goodbyes, Bill was gone from the apartment, and Eddie and Richie were left standing in the living room together. 

“Something you want to talk about?” Richie asked. “And by that I mean I  _ know  _ there's something I’ve been left out on, and I will probably explode if you don’t tell me.” 

“Bill just doesn't know if there’s gonna be a way to find the information necessary for whatever ritual bullshit would help bring me back.” Eddie ran a hand over the bridge of his nose. “That’s all.” 

“Okay.” Richie wasn’t sure he believed him. “We keep looking until we find it. We will.” 

Eddie seemed distracted, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Richie’s. They weren’t meeting much of anything, staring off into nothing instead. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, before finally looking up. “How’d the meeting go?” 

Richie shrugged. “I’ll be doing a show in two weeks. Nothing crazy big, but something to make sure people don’t forget about me.” 

“That’s good. I don’t know how anyone would forget about you since you’re incessantly annoying and present, but I guess maybe you can beat them all into submission with it.” 

Richie barked out a laugh. “Fuck you, Eduardo. I’m hilarious.” 

Clucking his tongue, Eddie brought his arms up and crossed them across his chest. “No accounting for shitty taste.” 

* * *

_ Eddie was leaned over him, and Richie could only remember the barest of bearings to where he was. It had been… nothing, really. Nothing but light and cold and a feeling that he was all alone, horribly alone, and then he woke up and Eddie was right above him.  _

_ His stomach was pierced through, and the blood was coating Richie’s glasses, and he would need new ones because no matter how hard he scrubbed there’d be no way to take that splattering memory away, and  _ ** _Eddie_ ** _ he yelled as if it could do anything.  _

“It’s just another dream, Richie, come on.” 

Richie felt the nausea loop through his stomach, and he held a hand over his mouth until it passed. He’d been puking way too much for his liking as of late. 

“Nightmare,” he corrected after a few breaths. 

Eddie looked tired, though Richie wasn’t sure how that was possible when he never needed to sleep, and he sat on the furthest corner of the bed from him. Richie wondered why he didn’t come closer. 

“Maybe you should read to me. Like you used to,” Richie said. “If you want, or—” 

“Yeah, let me just…” Eddie searched the room until his eyes landed on a copy of  _ Slaughterhouse Five  _ which probably was not the best choice as far as material, but Richie had limited options he knew. 

He crawled up the bed with the book held in his one hand until he was near the headboard and leaning back against it. The book opened up on his lap, and if this was really how it used to be then Richie might have had a chance at resting his head there, too. Not always, only when they were calm or sleepy or Eddie was feeling particularly generous. On one or two truly cherished memories, Eddie had ran his fingers through Richie’s hair as he read. 

“You sure you don’t wanna…” Eddie trailed off before clearing his throat. There was a beat before he shifted and gave up. “You ready?” 

“Ready.” Richie nodded as he swaddled himself more in his blankets and getting as close to Eddie as he could. 

His eyes were looking at his thigh, and Richie was pretty sure he knew the moles hiding beneath the jeans from memory. There was a group of three, right about midway and more toward the right that Richie used to doodle on his own leg when he was bored in class. 

As Eddie began speaking, Richie reached out a finger and hovered it right over the spot it would be. Then he let his hands drop back beneath the blankets, taking handfuls of them into his palms and holding them tight. 

* * *

“Tell me if this is funny,” Richie ordered as he clumsily dropped down onto the couch next to Eddie. 

“It isn’t.” 

“You don’t know the joke yet.” 

“I don’t need to.” Eddie’s eyes hadn’t come up from the book he’d ordered through Amazon just a few nights before. (“Can you please at least consult me before you go on midnight buying binges” “Do you know how fucking boring it gets at night? Also, I checked your bank statement you’re like… fine” “It’s the principle. If you end up buying an inhaler I swear that’ll be the last straw”).

“I honestly have been working on this whole hypochondriac ghost bit, and I think—”

“Ugh.  _ No. _ ” Eddie threw the book to the coffee table and crossed his arms. “I can’t hear it.” 

“When have I ever led you astray? I  _ promise  _ this one is maybe good.” 

“Rave reviews,” he deadpanned. “You  _ always  _ lead me astray by the way, what the fuck are you talking about? Remember toilet papering the Denbroughs? Or trying to get to the Clubhouse when it was raining and getting sick? Or… or… or  _ detention!  _ That one wasn’t my fault, and you got me stuck there.” 

“You’re remembering that  _ all  _ wrong.” 

“You cheated off of me! And then Mrs. Desoier thought I was giving you the answers willingly, and we got stuck in detention with that weird boy who smelled like bologna. I had to hold my breath for an entire hour.” 

_ “I fucking hate you Richie Tozier,” Eddie said as he sat in the back corner. He leaned forward over the desk and hissed in his direction. “If I die in detention because I didn’t get enough oxygen to my brain, then I will fucking haunt your ass.”  _

_ “My ass? What a lovely part of me to haunt.”  _

“You didn’t talk to me for a whole week after that unless someone else was around,” Richie recalled through a laugh. 

“If you do bits about me, then I’ll be forced to murder you. Or haunt you forever.” 

“Sounds like you just want to keep us together longer.” 

Eddie flipped him off. Richie felt like saying  _ all my jokes are slowly becoming about you, or at least the way I feel about you  _ was maybe a sort of tense subject, so he tabled it. 

* * *

“Boo!” 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Richie screamed. The soda in his hands dropped to the floor, fizzing all over the dark kitchen tiles. “You fucking  _ didn’t _ , Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie shrugged. “You walked right into it, man.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Fuck  _ you. _ ”

* * *

His manager had sent over an email about what he suggested Richie wear tonight, but so far his guidelines hadn’t been very helpful. His closet looked messy (which it was), and Richie felt as if he’d never dressed himself before. 

“I’ve never seen you put this much thought into anything you’ve put onto your body before,” Eddie spoke up from the bed. “Wear a shirt and be done with it.” 

“Wear a shirt. Wear a  _ shirt.  _ How the fuck is that helpful?” 

“I always thought it was weird you wore suits on stage,” Eddie said. “I mean, like, not that I knew I had known you or whatever, but your jokes never seemed to match.” 

Richie turned away from his clothes and gave Eddie the biggest smile. Eddie frowned before he’d said anything. “You were a fan, weren’t you? You watched all my specials.” 

“I hate-watched your specials. Now wear your stupid purple floral shirt and the leather jacket and be done with it. It’s really just sad when you waste your time trying to dress yourself as if the outcome will ever be good.” 

“You’re such an  _ ass _ , Eddie. It’s like you willingly forget about how much you love me.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed up from the bed, making his way to the closet. “Stop being nervous. It’s embarrassing.” He pulled out the shirt he’d been talking about and held it out. “You’ve been writing new material for the last two weeks, and you’re going to do great. Okay?” 

Richie nodded. “Hey, uh… have you heard anything from Bill or Mike lately? Any updates?” 

Eddie gave him a small smile. “Stop deflecting. If you don’t think your funny no one else will. It’s part of your charm that you do.” 

“You think I have charm.” 

“Get dressed. Get out. Let me have some silence and peace.” He turned around and exited the room. “This is why I never compliment you.” 

“Love you, Eddie.” 

* * *

_ Welcome to the stage, the one… the only…. Richie Tozier! _

Richie waved to the audience, taking a few awkward leaps across the stage as the cheering peaked then settled around them. He took the microphone in his hand and steadied it, trying to eye the audience in front of him and see if this show would be a total disaster or not. 

It wasn’t like he’d ever been able to tell in the first place. Might as well go in with no holding back.

“So, I’m living with my best friend now…” Richie trailed off, loving the feeling of the audience waiting for the punchline, waiting for his words, “which I should probably clarify is also the love of my sad, pathetic life. I don’t know how many of you grew up gay in middle of nowhere, America, but it isn’t great. Not the best time I’ve ever had. But the thing about having a childhood of trauma, is that it pretty much just slips in there. It’s like, ah, yes, mom is drunk upstairs, you haven’t slept in a week, you’re in love with your asthmatic best friend,  _ and _ you’ve got Chemistry homework… let’s not touch  _ any  _ of that and hyperfixate on something small and useless instead.” Richie paused. “I feel like you’re all waiting for me to get to another punchline, but I promise it doesn’t get funnier just sadder.” There was laughter. “Maybe that’ll be the title for my next stand-up special.” 

The crowd laughed some more, lightly, and Richie shook off the unease of his shoulders as best as he could. It was freeing to be honest to an audience, sort of like going to therapy and knowing you could talk about anything. It was a rush. They were leaning into his words. 

“I feel like you’re probably expecting me to come back around to the fact that I just came out randomly to my audience at a stand-up show that's being streamed live online, but if you’re still thinking that I have to say just like… think back on the last five minutes of everything I said because I’m the king of skating over everything my therapist tells me I shouldn’t. 

“My therapist is a whole other topic. I’ve turned the whole thing into a game which is the exact opposite of everything you’re supposed to do with a therapist by the way. For you lucky fucks who are normal enough not to know what therapy is like. I think of it as a fun back and forth where I tell her all the weird repressed trauma I’ve uncovered, and she gives me fun analysis in response. It’s like I'm some goblin just hoarding gold.” Richie bent forward, prepping his voice as he threw on a character for the next bit. “ _ Please, please give me more. Oooo is this a depression disorder? Ah, yes, yes… I’ll hold onto that…  _

“But back to the other thing. I’ve been in love with Eddie for as long as I can remember.” There were aw’s and Richie shook his head, laughing and waving his hand. “Oh no, you all don’t get to aw you haven’t  _ met  _ him. Eddie is a 5 foot 7 inch will tell you he’s 5 foot 9 inch ball of fury that never stops. He’s absolutely insane, and I’m  _ obsessed  _ with him. Disgustingly so.” A roar of laughter, and Richie laughed too as he readjusted the microphone. 

“Honestly, he’s the human embodiment of a cat. You know how cats just… do whatever the fuck they want? And think they’re always running the show? And they’re kinda  _ right  _ we just  _ let them  _ fuck everything up, and then we pet them and encourage them.  _ Aw did you just knock my glass vase over? You’re fucking adorable as shit I don’t even care.  _ Eddie would probably call me a little bitch or something, and then I turn around and smile at him like a goddamn idiot.” The crowd laughed again, and Richie smiled into it. “Booooo, no, you don’t get to laugh and aw! This is  _ serious.  _ I have a  _ disease _ , and it’s  _ disgusting _ .

“When I first met him he was convinced he was dying about every other minute, and he’d take puffs from his little inhaler like… that's how far gone I was, guys, absolutely pathetic. He wore little gay shorts, like legit they had rainbow stripes on them how did we not  _ know _ how gay it was all gonna get.”

Richie watched the crowd laugh some more, the smiles on their face, and he held the microphone steadily in his own two hands. 

* * *

He was feeling fucking  _ great,  _ thank you very much. The comedy show had gone well, and they were his own jokes, his own truth. Sure, he didn’t want to check social media for fear of what everyone would be saying, but right now, in the moment, he felt fucking  _ free.  _

Then he opened the door to his apartment and walked in to see his laptop queued up to the theater’s website, a video of him on display. 

“Fuck,” Richie said. He turned to see Eddie sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he ran a hand over his face. “So, uh…. You think it was funny?” 

“Fuck off, Rich,” Eddie said. Then he was up on his feet, walking toward him. “Actually, no, fuck  _ you  _ for not saying shit to me but saying it to a full audience. I can’t believe you would just say all that stuff to a full crowd, spilling our lives for— for—” 

“Eddie, you aren’t really mad about that,” Richie said. He took a breath, and he realized all at once that there was nothing to hold anymore. It was already out there, and Richie wasn’t going to create more barriers to hide behind. “You’re mad I’m in love with you.” 

All of Eddie’s frantic motions—the hands whirling around his head, and his eyes darting every which way, and the spastic up and down of his chest as he breathed—seemed to halt. Then, his gaze was singular and piercing. “I’m not mad you’re in love with me, asshole.” 

“Then what are you mad about?” 

“What are we supposed to do?” Eddie asked. “We had so fucking  _ long _ , and you never did anything about it, and I’m a  _ ghost–”  _

“I’m actually getting really tired of the You’re a Ghost line, it’s just not as funny as it used to be.” 

“And you’re still joking like any of this will be funny, but it’s not. I’m dead, Richie, and you love me, and I love you. And there's not one single thing we can do.” 

Richie felt all the breath rush from his lungs, and he was left looking at Eddie like he was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.  _ I love you  _ was something Richie had bottled up for 40 years of his life, storing it away like a squirrel stores a nut for the winter, only coming back to it when they need it the absolute most and never sharing it, but here Eddie was just… giving it out. Now, when it was so fucking inconvenient. 

“You love me?” Richie asked. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fuckface, I love you. Obviously. My stupid gay shorts and I have always loved you. Majorly fucking inconvenient even then.” 

And Richie could remember it all with a crystalline clarity, a fucking high definition quality, that had been harder to reach before. He remembered every time he held Eddie’s hand, their first kiss, laying in bed together and all the silly stuff too. They pushed each other back and forth, childhood teasing they never grew out of until they’d left and forgotten they once held onto it too tightly for fear of the loss. 

Little Richie holding onto little Eddie’s face when they thought it might all be over, telling him to  _ look at me, just look at me  _ because if they were going to die at Niebolt by a stupid clown, then Richie didn’t want Eddie’s last sight to be that, to be fear, but someone who loved him instead. 

And in the end it had been. Richie had never put those two thoughts together. 

“That’s been it the whole fucking time,” Eddie told him. “Closure. Unfinished business or whatever. I’d forgotten you, and then you showed back up and even if I couldn’t remember everything, I remembered the way you made me feel.” 

“Incredible?” 

“No, you annoying prick. You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met, but dammit…” 

“Dammit…” Richie agreed. 

They were just staring at each other, breathing, and Richie nearly felt like crying again because he wanted so badly to at least  _ touch  _ Eddie. Really, he wanted to kiss him and never stop kissing him, but he would take anything at this point. A graze of hands, a feel of flesh between the pads of his fingers, a warmth. 

“Bill told me something,” Eddie said then. 

Richie knew that whatever was going to come out of Eddie’s mouth would change everything, and there was a nausea blooming in his gut. 

“If we want to get me back, we have to go back.” 

“What do you mean?” Richie asked. “They figured it out?” 

Eddie nodded. “There’s like, some creepy ritual because apparently there always is, and we’d be sent back to the moment the energy shifted. We’d have to go back to before It was dead, when I was first hurt.” 

“Okay.” Richie shrugged. “Let’s call everyone up. Let them know.” 

“Richie. No.” 

“No?” Richie couldn’t compute the word.  _ No.  _ Because no here didn’t mean  _ no, we’re not going there for dinner  _ it meant  _ No I’m not going to live.  _ “What the fuck does  _ no  _ mean?”

Eddie stepped closer. With the way the overhead light of the living room shone over him, he looked eerie and iridescent. He looked fake, a mirage. He was a breath away, and Richie could see the colors of his eyes. He thought he’d probably dreamed of those eyes without realizing it more times than were possible to count. 

“I won’t put you and all our friends in that situation again,” he began. His voice barely sounded sure—shaky and only half-filled—but for what his words lacked his look made up for. “I’m scared. I’ve always been scared. I’m scared of so many fucking things, especially of what happens when I move on, but I’m more scared of what will happen to all of you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I went back and one of you didn’t make it out.” 

Richie ran a hand through his hair, shifting his glasses afterward as they’d started slipping slightly. “I’m just supposed to live without you?” 

Eddie shrugged. “I died. You did it for 27 years, can’t you just… do it again?” 

“Fuck you,” Richie said. “Fuck  _ you. _ ” 

For a second, Richie tried to close his eyes as if it might all get miraculously better by the time he opened them again. He would see Eddie alive standing in his apartment, able to hold and love. Or maybe they’d be back in that horrible moment where life and death stood at the precipice, a chance to change their fate. Perhaps, even, going back a few decades when they were younger, when there was a chance, when there was everything sitting in front of them open and malleable and they hadn’t realized how much they could mess it all up, yet. 

It wasn’t supposed to hurt when you told someone you loved them. It wasn’t supposed to hurt when they told you the same right back. 

He opened his eyes. Eddie’s face was long and worn, the creases looking centuries deep, and he was closer than before. A breath away, and Richie reached up a hand though he knew it would do nothing. As it hovered, he pretended he could feel Eddie’s face beneath his palm the way he  _ had  _ felt it before. 

“Please, don’t,” Richie pleaded. It was probably the first time he had ever pleaded like that before in front of him, though he had the itch of that same memory they’d remembered weeks before.  _ Don’t let her be your first kiss.  _ Even then he hadn’t wanted Eddie to go, to lose him. 

“You’re an asshole,” Eddie began through a disgusting smile, one that should be plastered on his face for a happier moment than this, than a  _ goodbye,  _ “and I love you  _ so much. _ ” 

He stepped away, and Richie felt cold. 

“Be good, loser,” he told him before turning, walking toward the front door, and Richie didn’t have time once he’d realized what he was doing before Eddie was slipping through the front door and—

Gone. He was gone. Richie knew he would not be back. 

* * *

In high school, Richie used to spend a lot of nights at Eddie’s. Mostly, he went because the silence of his own home was threatening to build a cavern inside of him. It was like the quieter it was, the more emptiness that seemed to seep into him, too. 

So, he’d ride his bike or drive his car to Eddie’s and climb up the old oak in the front to crawl through his window. Eddie would crinkle his nose at Richie’s worn high tops walking over his carpet, but he never said leave or turned him away. 

There was so much silence, Richie had become an expert at filling it endlessly until the point where he’d never learned how to turn that trait off. 

Not even he could fill this silence it would seem, though. Eddie was gone, and his apartment was empty in a way it had never been before, and he didn’t know what to do. 

He crawled into his bed, curving into himself, and let days pass by. He ignored the texts, and he ignored the calls from his manager (“Everyone loved the new stand up, Richie. We’ve got to keep going in this direction”), and he ignored the fact that he knew Eddie had left for good this time. 

He waited a bit longer. 

* * *

1\. Breathe in.  _ Eddie is gone.  _ 2\. Breathe out.  _ He’s not coming back.  _ 3\. Breath in again.  _ It’s all your fault.  _

* * *

There was a pounding on his front door, and Richie decided it was about time he left his bed. There were few people it could be, and most of them he suspected were probably not going to leave just because Richie didn’t come to the door. They’d keep pounding, and Richie would feel emptier still, and nothing would be better. 

So he went and opened the door, and there was Beverly with Ben behind her. 

It was actually sort of stupid and embarrassing how quickly he started crying. His body shook, and within seconds Beverly was wrapping her arms around him. 

“Oh, honey,” Beverly said, and that was all she needed to say. 

Ben came from his other side, wrapping his own arms around Richie, and the three of them stood for a few minutes in the open doorway of his apartment together as Richie cried like a baby. The tears subsided some, and he could breathe again, and the couple took a step back. 

“You smell, Rich,” Ben said through his soft, kind smile. 

“Yeah,” Richie said, pulling his glasses off so he could wipe away the dampness from his cheeks.

“He’s gone?” Beverly asked. 

Richie nodded. He didn’t trust his mouth to say anything else, truthfully. 

“Why don’t you get in the shower, and we’ll get something to eat. Then we can talk about it?” Beverly asked. 

Richie nodded again. 

“I’ll call Mike and Bill,” Ben said as he gave them a small smile and took a few steps back. 

“You… really smell, Rich,” Beverly said again. Richie turned with a shake of his head, but he paused when Beverly said one more thing. “I really liked the comedy special. Your best work in years.” 

Richie cleared his throat. “Yeah, I think so, too.” 

He went to take his shower. 

* * *

By the time he was out, Bill and Mike had arrived and brought groceries with them. It was weird that the last time all of them were together had been Derry right after defeating Pennywise. Now, they were here to mourn Eddie for a second time. 

Seemed exactly like the sort of fucked up thing they’d be forced to do. The hits just kept coming, maybe  _ that _ should be the title for his next stand-up. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have t-t-told him,” Bill began as he scratched at the back of neck. “I didn’t think…” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Richie said. He cleared his throat, shifting underneath the weight of all four of their gazes. “He didn’t want any of us to get hurt. He loved us, that's all.” 

_ You’re an asshole, and I love you so much.  _

“To Eddie,” Ben said, lifting up a beer. Richie came forward and took the glass of bourbon Beverly held out to him. 

“To Eddie,” they cheered. 

* * *

Ben and Beverly were staying nearby for an “undecided length”, and it helped to have people come checking in on him. It was gross, and nearly annoying, but also sweet. He loved these people even when he didn’t. They were friends that stuck themselves in you; when you didn’t like them, even when he wanted to be far away from them, they sat right inside. Inescapable. 

Two days later after crying into his best friends arms, he was ubering over to Ben and Beverly’s place which was practically pathetically nicer than his own. The uber driving was talking  _ way  _ too much, which was annoying, but Richie just kept hmming back in hopes that he’d eventually get the point. 

It all happened so quickly without warning. One second Richie was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter, and the next the lights were dull around him, and there was stone beneath his back, and  _ holy shit.  _

“I think I—” Eddie began, but then his eyes were widening. “Holy fuck,  _ how the hell am I here—” _

Richie knew what happened next, and he jolted forward to grab Eddie around the waist and twist him away. He was able to touch him. Holy shit, he was able to  _ touch him.  _

“You stupid asshole,” Richie said, dipping forward and kissing his lips. 

Eddie’s hands tugged at the back of Richie’s head instantly, holding him as close as possible, as he kissed him right back. With a touch of bite, a touch of rush because who the hell knew how long they all had anyways, and  _ god Richie had dreamt of this too many times.  _

“Wow, thank god we’re back here again,” Mike yelled from across the way. 

“I was in the  _ shower _ ,” Ben supplied. 

Richie unfortunately stopped kissing Eddie to tug at his hand and get them closer to the wall, to the safety. When he looked over his shoulder, Pennywise was crawling toward the other side of the cave to follow the sounds of Ben and Mike. 

“We have to end this quick,” Eddie said. 

“What the fuck happened? How are we here?” Richie asked. His hand was still holding onto Eddie’s wrist, and he honestly didn’t know if he could get himself to let it go. 

“I don’t know. You didn’t do the ritual, did you?” Eddie asked. “It took me a while to move on, I didn’t actually know what I was doing when I left your apartment, and—”

“Chat later! Kill clown now!” Beverly yelled. 

The rest of the next few minutes went near exactly as they had the first time, only this time Eddie was standing beside them. They yelled at the goddamn clown with a renewed energy because this time they had the anger of Eddie’s death, of the  _ after.  _

Then they were crawling up and out of that house, and Richie felt such a fucking relief getting to watch it fall with Eddie’s hand in his own. 

They walked together to the quarry wordlessly, and Richie’s eyes snagged on Bill and Mike’s hands held together, Beverly underneath Ben’s arm, but he couldn’t actually talk because he’s holding Eddie to him with a death grip. Though, Eddie hadn’t said anything about it yet. 

Beverly jumped first because of course she did. It was a relief to watch her red hair float up in the rush of air and her body plummet, knowing you’d get that same gut feeling a minute later. 

He was about to rush forward when Eddie grabbed his hand. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“You’re here,” Richie said in reply. He leaned forward and kissed Eddie’s face, holding it near and squeezing just a bit because he’d thought so many times the last few weeks about what his cheek would be like beneath his palm and now he had it. “You’re  _ here.”  _

Eddie stepped back and nodded, his shoulders loosening, and took Richie’s hand before they turned toward the cliff and jumped together. 

Their hands lost grip of one another as they plummeted down, and Richie let out a scream that echoed around the cavern before slicing through the water and going deep. He screamed a little more under the surface, too, just to let it all out. 

“We made it,” Mike said, “again,” and that's all it took to have Bill reach forward and kiss him, situation be damned. 

“How did I come back? I wasn’t trying to, you guys didn’t do the ritual or anything…” Eddie began. 

Bill shook his head and ran his hands over his wet hair after they’d pulled away and settled. “I don’t know.” 

“But— I was  _ trying  _ to keep you all safe, I thought—” 

Richie reached out to clasp his hand tightly within his own. 

“I don’t know,” Mike repeated. “Logically, if you moved on we never should have came back here, but…” 

Beverly shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we should just… let go.” 

Ben came from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her toward the water, and she spun around to giggle into his neck. Ben and Beverly moved to float off, letting the water hold them aloft as their hands linked them together. They looked like starfish, spread out and expanded and soaking in the sun. Alive. 

Bill and Mike were talking in low tones still, though it was clear it wasn’t about anything heavy or unhappy, and they swam away to do the same. Richie watched all this happen then turned his attention to Eddie because, honestly, it was time to stop wasting moments. He just wanted to  _ look  _ at him. 

Jokes were easy for Richie. They helped him deflect and speak the truth in equal measure as a way to cope, as a way to make life easier. 

Here, now, he was done with that. 

“You’re coming with, right?” Richie asked. “I don’t want to spend more time without you if I don’t have to.” 

“I was… thinking maybe… I’d go back…” 

Richie wanted to puke. Eddie wasn’t making eye contact. 

“To your mom,” Eddie finished. He looked up with a shit-eating grin. “I’m sorry, she’s just been so good to me.” 

“Oh, fuck you Eds.” 

But Richie also couldn’t stop the laughter that took over. He dove straight for Eddie and knocked him into the water. They crashed into the depths, limbs tangled, and Richie held tight. Eddie tried to kick up, and Richie tugged him lower again. 

Then Eddie twisted around, floating above him like something otherworldly, and kissed him before they were back at the surface with a hand clasped at the base of his skull. They rose to the surface, stumbling to their feet, while they kept their lips pierced together. 

“Kill me,” Richie said. “It can’t get better than this.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Don't be annoying?” 

“You can’t just kiss me Eds, baby, and get mad when I’m completely smitten. If you didn’t want me to be obsessed with you, you shouldn’t have been so goddamn cute. It’s been a problem my entire life.” 

“Genetics. I’ve just been blessed.” He shrugged with a laugh. “You’re going to have to come out to your audience again. Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. The comedy special will be even better now that I have a boyfriend. Can you imagine all the jokes I’ll be able to make?” 

Eddie winced, but he laughed too. “I hate your apartment,” he continued. 

“I’ll burn it. Who gives a shit. Where do you want to live? A house? I’ll get you a house. We can have a fucking zen garden for you or some shit. I just want you.” 

Eddie smiled. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Richie asked. 

“Thanks for saving me, asshole.” His hands cupped Richie’s cheeks, a thumb rubbing over his skin. “I love you.” 

“God, Eddie, don't dirty talk to me like that. Love? That's so fucking  _ hot _ .” 

“I truly hate you.” He kissed the rebuttal right off his lips. 

* * *

“I carved this for you. For us,” Richie said. 

He scraped over the letters, making the R + E more prominent. 

Eddie chuckled softly, sadly, also… sort of light and happy. “I carved this for you.” 

The R in a heart was faded but still there, not that far at all from Richie's own mark.

“Babe, how embarrassing.” 

Eddie didn’t even bother with a response. He squeezed Richie’s hand, keeping him close. 

* * *

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” 

“That’s for when you’re married,” Eddie said as he walked through the door of their new apartment. 

It was bigger, more open and more modern, though Beverly had helped them decorate the place to feel homey still along with Ben’s expertise as they’d done some redesign work. They were a perfect pair for a project like this. 

The letter had been forwarded, which was why they’d gotten theirs last. Eddie had said he thought Myra probably burned it along with a lot of the mail and odds and ends that had come in the wake of the divorce proceedings. So it took the letter going to Richie’s old apartment before being dropped in their new mailbox in the midst of moving for them to get their hands on it.

They were silent, reading through it a few times before saying anything. There were tears down Eddie’s cheeks, and Richie could feel the dampness on his own face. 

“The fucker always knew the right thing to say.” 

“You think he meant us? You think he knew? If you find someone worth holding onto. Never fucking let them go.” 

Richie nodded. “Hell yeah. He always knew everyone’s business.” 

“He brought us all together. He made it possible.” 

“Thanks, Stan.” 

Eddie dipped toward Richie, kissing at the hollow of his throat before tightening his arms around his waist. This was unreal, like a hazy dream at times because Richie couldn’t believe that it was all working right. He wasn’t convinced this wasn’t part of some weird continuation of Eddie as a ghost, like they would snap back and have to live through trauma again. 

But he was getting better at accepting he was allowed to be happy after so long not understanding he could be. 

“We’re staying by each other’s sides, no debate.” 

“Losers stick together.” Eddie kissed a line up his jaw. “You’re the biggest loser of us all.” 

“Do  _ not  _ start this debate it just isn’t true. You had a fanny pack. I helped move your closet, I know you  _ still  _ have a fanny pack.” 

“You wanted to buy arcade games for our apartment.  _ Lame.  _ Some would say loser.” Eddie was up on his toes, continuing his kisses over the neck to Richie’s cheek, to Richie’s nose, before taking his lips. 

“Don’t get me started on the  _ air purifying  _ unit you wanted me to install.”

Eddie took a step back. “I still stand by that, could you imagine how nice it would be to have fresh air floating through this apartment? I know the statistics on air as a carrier for diseases and strains, so I can assure you—” 

“You let me get Pacman, and I’ll let you get the air purifying system,” Richie replied. 

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say we’re both losers, and that we deserve each other, and also fucking  _ deal,  _ but you’re not allowed to play after like one in the morning because it’ll actually drive me nuts when you’re unable to sleep and come crawling back into bed all fucking jittery from looking at that screen.” 

“You’re a menace. I love you so much,” Richie said before grabbing him around the waist and trying to carry him down the hall, ignoring the way Eddie was laughing and tugging himself away. “You’re the cutest. I can’t let you leave, no, you’re  _ mine. _ ” 

Eddie froze. They were in the doorway of the bedroom, and Richie paused. He turned toward Richie with a serious expression, eyes focused. 

“You’re mine, too. Family. A pair. Together. Got it?” 

Richie liked that Eddie felt he needed to phrase it like an order, like there’s any version of reality where he would do anything but say yes. 

“Got it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> fine me on tumblr if you like ridiculous hyperfixation spirals and the occasional fic to wash that all down: [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
